


Sweater Vests

by silver_etoile



Series: Mr. Eames [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, M/M, Porn, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Arthur is not a control freak. Really, he’s not. He just likes things to be a particular way. He likes his shirts folded and arranged by solids and patterns. He likes his schedule printed out and taped to the wall behind his desk, classes highlighted different colors. He likes knowing what’s next and having a plan.Arthur is trying to figure out how his relationship with Eames works, and his tumblr is not helping.





	Sweater Vests

Eames always looks smaller on camera, somehow. Maybe it’s the screen. Maybe it’s the framing. Arthur isn’t quite sure. 

Eames on camera doesn’t compare to real life.

Arthur watches Eames on the screen, kneeling on his bed, a hand wrapped around his prick, jerking himself off almost painfully slowly, like he wants to torture the people who are watching. The camera is focused in tight on Eames, and even in the dim lighting, Arthur can see the slick lube coating Eames fingers.

Shifting in his chair, Arthur bites his lip and pushes the heel of his hand into his erection. He shouldn’t be getting off on this, but he is.

On camera, Eames closes his eyes for just a second, like he’s thinking of something that makes his hand move faster, his hips thrusting into his grip. He’s putting on a show. Arthur can tell by the way Eames locks eyes with the camera a second later and bites his bottom lip, as though daring everyone watching to come.

Arthur’s curse is silent as he slides his hand into his pants, the first touch a welcome relief of the pressure building within him. He slides his prick out, running his hand over the heat of his skin, thumbing the precum at the head and sucking in a breath. A brief flash of embarrassment steals over him as he watches Eames on the screen, taking in the way Eames makes a soft noise, a sigh, barely audible. He can’t believe his life has come to this.

Arthur jerks himself off, not nearly as slowly as Eames is doing, a hot slick slide that makes his toes curl, hips pushing into his hand, biting his lip to keep quiet.

Eames doesn’t change speeds, but Arthur can tell he’s close, can tell from the way Eames grips his cock, large even in his hand, thick and hard. Arthur wants him to come all over the lens, all over the screen. He grits his teeth against the thought, gripping his cock tight as he comes.

He’s got come on his shirt tails, and he sucks in air as his head clears from arousal. On screen, Eames is almost there. Arthur slides down in the uncomfortable desk chair, inches away from Eames’ bed, just off camera.

Eames is louder in person, and his gaze flicks from the camera set up on the tripod to Arthur in the corner as he comes, stroking his cock through it as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

This is what Arthur’s life has become, and well, he can’t really bring himself to complain.

“Fuck,” Eames breathes as he kneels on the bed.

Reaching over, Arthur stops the camera from recording. He wipes at the mess on is shirt with a frown as Eames grabs a tissue from a box on the floor. Everything in Eames’ room seems to live on the floor—his clothes, condoms, lube, tissues. Everything except his textbooks which live on the desk. Arthur would care about the state of the room, the inability to find anything, except that he doesn’t.

He cares more that Eames smirks at him as he climbs off the bed and settles himself in Arthur’s lap as though Arthur invited him there, as though Arthur's lap is only for Eames.

“I saw you,” Eames says, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, and Arthur tries to squirm underneath him, but Eames weighs more than he does, a warm, comforting weight on top of him. “You completely get off on this.”

“Well, you already knew that, didn’t you?” Arthur asks, but he remembers when Eames suggested he watch him film and he’d asked what the point was.

Eames nods in agreement, but his fingers are sliding down Arthur’s neck, and Arthur can’t help the shiver that follows. He should have more control than this, but he doesn’t. Not with Eames.

“As I recall, you called the idea ‘an exercise in narcissism.’”

Arthur tries to look skeptical, but Eames’ mouth is on his chin, moving up his jaw, and he falters. “Everything you do is an exercise in narcissism,” he says, but he closes his eyes anyway as Eames reaches his ear and slides his tongue inside.

“But you still like watching,” Eames points out, digging a hand into Arthur’s thigh, and Arthur’s gasp betrays his body’s arousal. “And I’ll say, I could get off watching you. You could have a nice little following if I could get you on camera.”

“I don’t think so,” Arthur says, though it isn’t as though he hasn’t thought about it, considered it. Wondered what he might say if Eames outright asked him to. Eames hasn’t, so far. They’ve talked around it.

Eames doesn’t look disappointed. “So that makes four,” he says instead, and Arthur gives him a little shove, pushing Eames off his lap. He does have readings to do and he can’t spend his whole evening watching Eames jerk off and tease him.

“I wear more than just sweater vests,” Arthur points out, but Eames only grins as he lets Arthur up.

“I’ve yet to see anything but button downs and sweaters. Not that I’m complaining. I’m definitely into the hot librarian look.”

Arthur doesn’t feel the need to justify his clothing choices to Ariadne, so he’s certainly not going to do it with Eames.

“I have things to do,” he says instead of justifying Eames’ new kink. He grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and pulls it on while Eames stands before him, unashamedly nude.

“Alright, Darling,” Eames says as though he’s being magnanimous, letting Arthur do his school assignments. “I’ll do some editing and get this video out. Something for you to go to sleep to.”

Arthur doesn’t roll his eyes because Eames is so presumptuous. “You know I don’t go on there anymore.”

“Of course you don’t,” Eames says, almost condescending, but his tongue is in Arthur’s mouth before Arthur can argue. “Say hello to Ariadne for me.”

Arthur won’t, but he lets Eames kiss him again because he can never say no to Eames’ mouth. He does manage to leave a few minutes later, though, before Eames can talk him into staying and filming something else.

Arthur really needs to get a grip, and not on Eames’ thighs.

*

Arthur does have assignments to do: readings, essays, watering the stupid pea plant he’s supposed to be documenting for his Life Cycle of Plants class. He does, and he’s in the middle of a particularly dry section of his poli sci textbook when his hand reaches for his phone, almost involuntarily.

He’s told Eames he doesn’t check Eames’ tumblr anymore, but sometimes his fingers slip.

He pulls it up now, scrolling through all the reblogs. He’s pretty sure Eames doesn’t have a queue and just spends way too much time on tumblr.

A few posts down is the video. Arthur knows it before it even plays. He can recognize Eames’ room from the screenshot, which should be telling. 

It’s been a couple weeks since Arthur followed Eames home and left Ariadne and Dom behind at a party. A couple weeks of amazing sex, of Eames touching Arthur in all the right places, of awkwardly avoiding the conversation with Ariadne whenever she brings it up (which is often). It’s been a couple weeks of Arthur wondering what the hell he’s doing exactly.

Arthur has never been the type to sleep around. Of course, it isn’t like there was much opportunity for that in high school. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on with Eames. A part of him doesn’t want to know. There are too many unanswered questions, and thinking about them drives Arthur crazy. He should just enjoy what’s happening.

But Arthur is far too analytical just _let it go_.

Still, it’s been a few weeks and he doesn’t have any answers.

_lunch tomorrow?_

Arthur’s phone buzzes with Ariadne’s text, dropping down on the top of the screen. He taps it as another text comes.

_watching the vid? ;) <3_

It’s Eames this time, and Arthur ignores that message in favor of Ariadne’s.

 _Sure_ , he writes to Ariadne.

He ignores Eames’ message even though the tumblr app is playing the video right now. He’s already seen it. He’s seen it in person. Eames just wants to get under his skin, something he is surprisingly good at.

What bothers Arthur most about Eames is how easy it is to just give in. Arthur’s not usually very good at that, and he kind of likes it that way. Rigid is what his mother says when he’s being stubborn. Uptight, Ariadne calls it. Eames calls it a turn-on.

Arthur closes the tumblr app and sets his phone aside. He’s not going to reply to Eames. Eames already knows the answer to his question anyway.

*

The one good thing about hooking up with Eames is that Ariadne has stopped trying to set him up with Dom.

“I can’t believe you just ditched Dom for his roommate.”

Of course, that doesn’t mean she’s stopped talking about it.

Arthur picks at the fries on his tray. “I didn’t ditch him. We weren’t anything.”

“But you could have been.”

“Are you saying you don’t like Eames?” Arthur asks as Ariadne twists a lock of brown hair around her finger.

“I don’t even know Eames,” she points out. “And neither do you.”

“Weren’t you the one who said that this is college. That we should get out, meet new people, have sex with strangers?”

She frowns even though Arthur knows perfectly well she did say that. They’ve already exhausted the subject of Dom and Eames, as far as Arthur’s concerned. He hasn’t given her many details of what he and Eames do in his room.

“Yeah, but did you have to fall for his roommate?”

“Fall?” Arthur repeats skeptically. “We’re not even dating. It’s been, like, two weeks.”

“If you’re not dating, what are you doing?” Ariadne asks, peeling the label off her water bottle. Arthur still doesn’t understand why she’s so concerned that he turned down Dom.

“I’m not answering that question,” Arthur says and Ariadne sticks out her tongue.

“Fine. I know what you’re doing. It’s just not like you.”

“Like me? What’s ‘like me’?”

She shrugs. “So why aren’t you?”

Arthur shakes his head, confused. She’s jumping around subjects too fast to keep track. “Why aren’t I what?”

“Dating Eames.” She looks up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with him?”

“It’s not because anything’s wrong with him,” Arthur says, scoffing. He could tell Ariadne about Eames’ tumblr, about all the videos featuring nameless guys with Eames, guys who only appear once then aren’t seen again. It’s abundantly clear that Eames sleeps around and Arthur isn’t going to stop him just because Ariadne is obsessed with the idea of dating.

“So then I get to meet him,” Ariadne says, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“You’ve already met him.” Arthur doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t like the idea of introducing Ariadne to Eames, like they’re more than fuck buddies.

Ariadne scoffs. “I met him once at a dark party and then you went off and fucked him while Dom wondered where you were.”

She’s just going to guilt him into it. That’s how she’s gonna play it.

“There’s no reason to meet him,” Arthur says. He’s starting to get a headache from this discussion. “He’s just… he’s just Eames.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says, taking a swig of water. “That’s not a reason at all. I’ll just ask Dom to meet him.”

“Ariadne, why are you so obsessed with this?” Even Arthur doesn’t think that hard about it all, but then, he tries not to.

“I’m going over to Dom’s apartment to study later,” she says, ignoring him. “I’m going to do this with or without you.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Arthur says with a frown. He doesn’t want to be a part of this vendetta she has. Eames is just Eames.

“I will.”

*

Arthur is not a control freak. Really, he’s not. He just likes things to be a particular way. He likes his shirts folded and arranged by solids and patterns. He likes his schedule printed out and taped to the wall behind his desk, classes highlighted different colors. He likes knowing what’s next and having a plan.

He doesn’t like the uncertainty Eames has thrown into his life. He tells himself that he can let it go, that he can enjoy everything that’s happening. And he can. Until Ariadne sees fit to shove her nose in it.

Which is probably why Arthur finds himself knocking on Dom and Eames’ apartment door when he knows Ariadne will be there to study.

“Arthur.” Dom seems surprised, which isn’t surprising given that Arthur has surreptitiously avoided running into Dom whenever he’s been over with Eames. Eames, for his part, has at least helped Arthur with that bit.

“Heard you were studying,” he says, holding up his philosophy textbook. He can see Ariadne over Dom’s shoulder, sitting on the couch and frowning at Arthur.

“Yeah, come in,” Dom says, stepping aside to let Arthur in.

“What are you doing?” Ariadne asks curiously. “I thought I was on my own.”

Arthur doesn’t reply, but he glances at Eames’ closed door. Maybe he’s not even home. Arthur hadn’t texted him to check.

“So where’s your roommate?” Ariadne asks because Arthur isn’t going to.

Dom shoots a look at Arthur as Arthur sits down on the couch next to Ariadne. Dom takes the chair, and Arthur marvels at the fact that he’s been in this apartment multiple times but he’s never bothered to take in much more than Eames’ room.

The apartment is relatively small, a couch and chair stuffed into the living room, facing a small TV. A five-armed lamp is on in the corner, casting unflattering yellow light over the rest of the room. The walls aren’t decorated and there’s no coffee table.

“He has a writer’s group on Tuesdays,” Dom says, and Ariadne tosses a significant glance at Arthur as though he was supposed to know that. Arthur doesn’t know what Eames does on Tuesdays.

Ariadne seems disappointed and doesn’t pursue the subject any further. Arthur somehow doubts that Dom wants to talk about it.

Instead, they actually study. Arthur is grateful that Eames is not home because he doesn’t need Ariadne in his business any more than she already is.

“Are you going home for Thanksgiving?” Ariadne asks in between analyzing philosophical arguments.

“Probably,” Dom says. “My family’s in California.”

“That’s a long ways,” she says, and Arthur is only partly paying attention.

“Not as far as Eames,” Dom says, and Arthur’s attention snaps back to him. “Of course, the English don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but his mom lives in Seattle, so he may go there.”

“Is his mom American?” Ariadne asks, and Arthur can’t deny that he’s interested in the details.

“No,” Dom says, flipping the page in his book and seemingly oblivious to why Ariadne is asking. “But his parents are divorced and she moved over here for a job. That’s why Eames is going to school in the US.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything. Eames hasn’t told him any of this, but he also hasn’t asked or done much stalking aside from tumblr. He just hopes Ariadne will stop putting her nose where it doesn’t belong.

He knows his hopes are dashed when the door opens a minute later and Eames steps in. To his credit, he doesn’t look too surprised at finding Arthur and Dom in the living room.

“Evening,” he greets them, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the kitchen counter. He’s wearing a henley tee that just barely shows off part of the tattoo on his chest. Arthur looks away as Eames enters the living room. He’s not sure what Eames is going to do in a situation like this, different than any other situation they’ve found themselves in so far.

To his unease, Eames squeezes himself onto the couch between Arthur and Ariadne, far too close than is strictly necessary. Arthur can feel the warmth of Eames’ thigh pressed to his, though Eames appears oblivious, though Arthur is sure he isn’t.

“What are we doing?” he asks cheerfully, glancing at all three of them. Ariadne’s expression has lit up and Dom seems resigned.

“Study philosophy,” Ariadne supplies. “We haven’t really met.”

“Ariadne,” Eames says easily, all charm and grace as he smiles at her. Arthur shifts against Eames, but there’s nowhere to move to on the couch. He tries not to focus on the warmth of Eames. “Arthur’s friend. Well, and Dom’s now.”

Ariadne looks surprised. “Yeah.”

“Nice to see you again,” Eames says. “You’re keeping these two boys in line, then?”

“Trying to,” she says, and Arthur knows she’s already taken with Eames and his good-looking charm. At least he won’t have to listen to her asking what he sees in Eames anymore.

“It’s getting late,” Arthur says when Ariadne only grins at Eames and Dom tries to ignore the whole situation by staring at his book.

“But we haven’t even gotten through the article,” Ariadne says as Arthur rises, breathing out in relief as the heat of Eames’ body is left behind.

“You two can finish on your own,” Arthur says, pulling on his jacket. “I’ll be fine.”

“Be careful going home,” Ariadne says as Arthur goes to the door. “Text me when you get there.”

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur assures her again, meeting Eames’ gaze for a minute before pulling open the door. “I’ll see you guys later.”

In the hallway, he takes a second to sigh. He doesn’t know why it’s so awkward with other people. With just Eames, it always seems easy. 

“Five.” A voice behind him surprises Arthur and he turns to find Eames leaning against the wall. When Arthur frowns, Eames holds up a book. “You forgot your book.”

“Oh. Thanks.” 

They’re alone in the hall, and Eames comes closer, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Did you come over to see me?”

“I came over to study. You have writer’s group on Tuesdays.”

“I do,” Eames agrees. “And you have a class with Dom.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Arthur looks at Eames, over the stubble on his jaw, and his mind immediately imagines the scrape of it over his cheek, down his chest. He shakes himself.

Eames shrugs elegantly. “We don’t talk about you.”

Arthur wishes Ariadne could be more like Eames and not talk about it.

Arthur shifts the book in his arms. “I really do need to get back to my dorm,” he says though he doesn’t really. He just couldn’t stand sitting there any longer. He and Eames haven’t defined what they’re doing and he doesn’t need Ariadne to do it for him.

Eames doesn’t react this time, merely shrugging again. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“’Night,” Arthur says, turning and heading down the hall finally. He doesn’t look back as he hears the snap of a door behind him.

*

“How’s school going?”

“It’s fine, good,” Arthur says, glancing out his window to the drizzle of rain.

“And your grades?”

“I passed all my midterms, Mom,” Arthur assures her, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the desk as he opens his laptop.

“And you haven’t been partying too much?” she asks, voice echo-y on the phone.

“Only one party a night.”

“Very funny,” she says. “But you are making new friends, right?”

“Mom,” he says, rolling his eyes. Only she would be concerned with how many friends he has. 

His half-finished paper on the comparison of electoral colleges in China and France pops up on his screen but he clicks away from it. Instead, he brings up the internet browser and his fingers type in tumblr before he can stop himself. It’s a terrible habit and he hates Ariadne for ever introducing him to it.

“I just want to make sure you’re well-adjusted,” she protests. “College is the time to do stupid things. Though not so stupid that you fail all your classes.”

“So a controlled good time?”

There’s nothing good on his dashboard tonight and Arthur scrolls back to the last post he saw yesterday. Ariadne has reblogged a few buildings and a meme about Spongebob. 

“I know you’re responsible,” his mom says as Arthur’s mouse hovers over the address bar. “But I want you to enjoy college and not see it as purely a means to an end.”

“I know,” he says, and he clicks the bar, typing in an address he really shouldn’t be while on the phone with his mother.

Two months ago, he wouldn’t have even dared to go to Eames’ tumblr with even the possibility of anyone knowing, but he does it without thinking. His mom can’t tell anyway. She’s on the phone, not a video chat.

“So let Ariadne drag you to parties. On the weekends.”

“No Thirsty Thursdays?” Arthur jokes, but he’s distracted as he scrolls down to a video tagged “mr. Eames” but it’s not Eames in the screenshot.

He clicks play and there’s a guy on his knees, blond hair and dark eyes, his mouth stretched over someone’s cock. It has to be Eames. Arthur has seen it enough times to know. That along with the sinking feeling in his stomach confirms it.

His mom is talking, but Arthur is no longer listening as he watches the guy going down on Eames. A month ago, he would have found it incredibly arousing, but now, he’d rather he hadn’t seen it.

“What?” he asks when his mom asks something.

“I wanted to know what day you’re coming home for Thanksgiving,” she says. “Do you need me to come get you?”

Arthur shakes his head, pausing the video and trying to focus. “No, no. I’ll just get a ride with Ariadne.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” she says excitedly. “And to take you shopping. You must need clean underwear by now.”

“Mom.”

“I’ll see you soon!”

Arthur hangs up and stares at the screen, unpausing the video and frowning as the guy deep-throats Eames. There are no noises aside from the guy panting for breath around Eames’ dick.

It isn’t like Arthur didn’t know. It’s just different, knowing and seeing. He’s not so naive to think Eames wasn’t sleeping with other people.

The dorm room door bangs open and Arthur jumps, jerking to see Yusuf striding in, dumping his bag and nodding at him.

Yusuf does a double-take, though, as he gets a glance of Arthur’s screen where the video is still playing. Panicked, Arthur snaps the top shut.

“I knew you weren’t so straight-laced,” is all Yusuf says as Arthur searches for an explanation.

“It’s not—I wasn’t—”

“To each his own,” Yusuf interrupts. He pauses. “There’s a guy in my English class you might like.”

“No thanks,” Arthur says firmly. The last thing he needs is _Yusuf_ trying to set him up.

Yusuf shrugs, and Arthur can feel his heart beating in his throat. He’s been very careful to keep that part of his life out of his relationship with his roommate. He doesn’t want to know anything about Yusuf’s sex life, and he doesn’t want Yusuf to know anything about his.

“Just pretend you didn’t see that,” he says instead.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Yusuf says simply. “Though it does explain why you don’t go out.”

Arthur frowns but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to prove anything to Yusuf.

*

The camera sits on the desk, lens cap on, but Arthur can’t help thinking about it as Eames pushes him down, onto his back, capturing his wrists on either side of his head and holding him down as he leans in for a rushed kiss

Arthur’s body arches into Eames’, unbidden, almost involuntarily, as he sucks on Eames’ bottom lip and strains against his grasp on his wrists.

Arthur is never quite sure how he ends up here, under Eames, his body begging for more. He doesn’t know if Dom is home or who else Eames might have had in his bed earlier. He has a sneaking suspicion he’s here this time because of the dick pic Eames texted him earlier accompanied by a few suggestive emojis. Not exactly subtle but it got the job done.

“So that makes six,” Eames murmurs against Arthur’s neck as he shoves Arthur’s sweater up. This time, there’s no button down underneath, so that at least, Arthur counts as a victory. “Might be easier if you just let me see your closet.”

“Not gonna happen,” Arthur says, pulling Eames back to his mouth once he gets the sweater off.

Eames’ kisses are sharp and warm, soft but hard at the same time, and they make Arthur think of knocking headboards, gasps in the darkness, clinging fingers digging into flesh.

Arthur never thought he’d be this person, so impatient as he shoves Eames’ jeans down and rolls Eames onto his back.

Eames arches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on the change of position. He just relaxes against the mattress as Arthur gets his jeans off and yanks his briefs down. Of course, Eames wears briefs.

A desire to get Eames off rises in Arthur, burning hot in his chest, and he ignores Eames’ questioning noise as Arthur presses his mouth to Eames’ stomach, sliding his tongue down, pushing Eames’ legs apart.

“Arthur,” Eames mutters appreciatively, sliding a hand to Arthur’s hair as Arthur sucks on the tip of his cock.

His mind flits to the video, the anonymous guy sucking Eames off, his hollowed cheeks, the fake sounds he made. Eames hadn’t made any noise on that video, and Arthur is determined to change that this time.

Eames’ cock is bigger, thicker on his tongue even than he expects, but Arthur isn’t deterred. With one hand, he circles the base as he takes him in. He can’t quite deep throat, but he doesn’t need to. Instead, he keeps the palm of his hand slick with spit as he squeezes gently. Eames doesn’t respond except to exhale a long breath.

Eames’ hand in Arthur’s hair strokes through his locks gently, easily, like a silent encouragement to keep going. Arthur wishes he wouldn’t be as gentle, that he’d just grab hold and tell him what he wants.

Moving back and forth, Arthur glides his tongue over Eames’ cock, moving his free hand to Eames’ balls, brushing against them as he listens to Eames’ breathing, measured and slow. That isn’t good enough.

He presses kisses to the length of Eames’ prick, sucking on the head, licking off the taste of Eames, heavy on his tongue. His own erection strains against his pants, but he has to ignore it for the moment. Still, he moans around Eames’ cock as Eames’ hand tightens in his hair.

“Oh, you like that,” Eames breathes, and Arthur is pleased to hear the pant in his words.

Arthur is going to make Eames come. He’s going to make him come with Arthur’s name on his lips.

Using his hand, Arthur jerks Eames off, sucking a finger into his mouth. Eames’ eyes are dark as he watches, his chest moving faster as he lies there.

Eames makes a noise this time, when Arthur slides his hand to his entrance, teasing, a slow slide. His cock is hard and hot in Arthur’s mouth as he sucks him off, thrusting his finger inside Eames. A shiver of anticipation runs through him as he feels Eames’ hips push up, into his mouth, not enough to choke him.

“Oh, fuck,” Eames says above him, barely a whisper.

Arthur moves faster, feeling the tension in Eames’ thighs where he lays his free hand, pushing his hips to the mattress.

He pulls away before Eames can come, jerking him off fast, licking over his skin, waiting. His cock pulses eagerly in his pants; he pants for air, sliding his fist over Eames’ prick as Eames pushes into his grip and comes with a stuttered breath.

Come paints Arthur’s lips, dripping down his chin, and Arthur curses to himself at the heat shuddering through his body. He’s unbearably hard, and he can barely move as Eames pulls him up and kisses him, come and all. He shuts his eyes at Eames’ hand pushing under his waistband, pulling out his cock and pressing it against Eames’ spent one.

Arthur can’t hold on as he comes, panting into Eames’ neck, come smearing onto his skin. Eames doesn’t seem to mind, licking Arthur’s bottom lip as Arthur shudders and slumps against him.

Arthur should be embarrassed, but somehow, he never is with Eames.

“Fuck.” Eames laughs, brushing a hand through Arthur’s hair. It’s so close to affection that Arthur opens his eyes to meet Eames’. “Thought you didn’t stalk my tumblr anymore.”

The satisfied feeling in Arthur’s chest fades at Eames’ words. “What?”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t see the video,” Eames says, sounding completely content. He’s got a hand on Arthur’s back, dipping lower, tracing patterns on his skin. “Not after that.”

Arthur moves back, forcing Eames to drop his hand. “Sorry, did you have someone else coming over to make a video?” he asks, a little too sharply.

“No,” Eames says, though he does frown at Arthur. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Arthur says, but he doesn’t come back into Eames’ space. “How many guys do you sleep with in a week?”

Eames stares for a minute then laughs. “Really? You’re asking that question.”

“Shouldn’t I? If we’re sleeping together, I think maybe I should know.”

Eames blinks and pushes a hand through his hair. Arthur watches him intently.

“Well,” Eames says, frowning. “There’s you. And sometimes, there are other guys.”

“How many?”

Eames pushes himself onto his elbow. “Believe it or not, I’m not a whore.”

“I didn’t say that.” Arthur frowns this time. That isn’t what he meant to imply.

“You did just ask me how many guys I sleep with in a week, which sort of implies you think I sleep with a ton of people.”

“You do post a lot of videos,” Arthur points out, and he’s not going to feel bad for pointing out the obvious.

“I post maybe one a month,” Eames says, and his eyebrows are furrowed. “Seriously, Arthur? Are you jealous?”

Arthur can’t be jealous because he and Eames are not dating. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Then why are you so concerned with the number of guys I fuck?”

“Because I’m—we’re—” Arthur doesn’t know how to say it.

“We’re…?” Eames rolls on top of Arthur despite his noise of protest. Arthur doesn’t want to be trapped underneath Eames when he’s just lost an argument. “What do you want, Arthur?”

Arthur stares up at Eames. “What?”

“Want,” Eames repeats slowly, his thumb sliding down Arthur’s chin, wiping away some of the come still there. “What do you want from this? From me?”

Something in Arthur’s chest balloons up, the same anxiety he gets before big tests.

“Nothing,” he says finally, pushing Eames off him and getting up. He grabs his pants from the floor and pulls them on. “I don’t want anything.”

“I don’t quite believe that,” Eames says, still on the bed.

“Well, it’s true,” Arthur says, though the pressure in his chest doesn’t lessen as he pulls on his sweater. He’s not going to tell Eames to stop sleeping around or making his videos or doing whatever he likes to do.

“Just say it, Arthur,” Eames says, and Arthur shakes his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He slips his shoes on and searches for his book bag. It had been dropped somewhere on the way in.

He doesn’t know what Eames wants him to say exactly. Probably that he wants them to be fuck buddies forever until one of them gets tired and moves on. Arthur isn’t interested in doing that. 

He pulls open the bedroom door only to find Dom in the living room, the TV on.

“Hi, Dom,” he says as he crosses the room. Dom frowns after him, confused.

“Arthur,” Eames says from where he lounges in his door frame. He’s at least put on underwear, and Arthur should be embarrassed that Dom is right there, watching the whole thing, but he doesn’t care.

“I’ll text you,” he says as he leaves. Eames can explain everything to Dom, and Arthur can try to explain things to himself.

*

Arthur doesn’t text Eames. He doesn’t check his tumblr either because he doesn’t want to see Eames fucking another stranger. Before, before he knew Eames, it wasn’t a problem. He would have been excited for any video from Eames.

It isn’t like he wants Eames to stop making videos. He just wishes they weren’t with other guys. Not that Arthur wants to be filmed but… It’s so hypocritical, Arthur thinks to himself as he sits in the philosophy lecture. Beside him, Ariadne has stopped taking notes and is only doodling in the margins. He just doesn’t like the thought of Eames with other guys.

He supposes that might be jealousy. It might also be that he actually likes Eames? He likes his stupid charm and dumb jokes. He likes the way Eames kisses him goodbye when he doesn’t have to. He likes that Eames seems to know his kinks better than he does.

“So how’s Eames?” Ariadne asks when class ends and they join the queue to leave.

“Can’t we talk about anything else?” Arthur asks as they climb the stairs out of the hall. He’s tired of thinking about Eames.

Ariadne shrugs. “Sure. Just thought you’d want to, seeing as you’re sleeping with him.”

Arthur ignores her this time. “Can I get a ride home with you for Thanksgiving?” he asks instead.

“Of course,” she says. They step into the damp air, clouds overhead. “I was thinking of skipping Wednesday classes and just going home early.”

Normally, Arthur wouldn’t think of skipping class, but anything to get out of there early sounds good right now. Of course, Thanksgiving is two weeks away, but still.

“So why don’t you want to talk about Eames?” Ariadne asks as they cross the lawn.

“Ari!” Arthur glares at her and she shakes her head.

“What? You were upset when I didn’t like him, and now that I do, you’re still upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Arthur hikes his bag over his shoulder. “It’s just not going to work out, is all.”

“Why not? There is something wrong with him, isn’t there? I knew it. That English charm just sucks you in.”

“We’re just incompatible.”

“He chews with his mouth open, doesn’t he?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “We’re just not interested in the same things.” Like monogamy.

Ariadne is silent for a moment and they reach the cafe. Arthur pushes open the door for her.

“Well, Dom’s still available,” she says brightly and Arthur seriously considers letting the door hit her on the way in.

*

Arthur resolutely doesn’t check Eames’ tumblr. In fact, he considers deleting his account altogether. It would be pointless, though, since Ariadne would just make him another, and he apparently has the self-control of a cat.

It’s been almost a week since he last saw Eames, and he figures he probably won’t see him again after how he left things. It’s better this way, though, he tells himself. Eames isn’t the kind of guy he can really see himself with. Eames will never be satisfied with someone like Arthur. Someone who likes rules and order and knowing what’s next. Eames gets off on the unknown, on the danger of life. Not Arthur.

Still, it doesn’t feel all that good as he sits around on a Saturday night, watching _Jean de Florette_ on his laptop. He can never convince Ariadne to watch French films with him.

Yusuf has popped in again from wherever it is he goes.

“I won’t say it, but—”

“Shut up,” Arthur interrupts. He doesn’t need to hear Yusuf’s opinion on this particular subject. He already knows how pathetic it is.

Yusuf shrugs. “I’m going to a friend’s house if you want to come along. There’ll be plenty of alcohol and other substances to consume. Maybe even some good-looking people.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Arthur says flatly. The last time he went to a party, he ended up here. 

A knock comes at the door and Arthur doesn’t look away from the screen.

“You might benefit from some substances,” Yusuf says as he answers the door.

“Hello,” comes a very recognizable voice from the doorway and Arthur sits up like a shock, turning to find Eames in the hall. “Ah, Arthur.”

Yusuf glances back at Arthur. “Or maybe you don’t need to come with me. I’ll be back late.”

Yusuf squeezes past Eames, who looks confused as he goes. He doesn’t enter the room, though.

“Can I come in?” he asks instead.

Arthur pauses the movie and stands. “I guess.”

Eames steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Arthur finds it strange, Eames in his dorm.

“How’d you know where I live?” he asks because he doesn’t remember telling Eames.

“I have my ways,” Eames says, and when Arthur frowns, he smiles. “I called your lovely friend, Ariadne, and she told me. By the way, security downstairs is appalling. A pretty girl let me in without asking any questions.”

“So what are you doing sneaking into my dorm?”

Arthur thought they’d finished whatever it was they had.

“That,” Eames says thoughtfully. “I’ve come to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“Firstly, that you are an idiot.”

Arthur scowls. “Excuse me?”

Eames ignores him, taking a step forward, over Yusuf’s mess on the floor to Arthur’s clean side. “Secondly, you’re going to say what you refused to say last week: that you want me.”

Arthur opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know why because only arguments rise to the surface.

“I may not be a political science major like you, but I am an English major, which means I can read the subtext.”

“What subtext?” Arthur says because his heart is starting to beat faster. If Eames knows…

Eames steps into his space and checks off his fingers. “Jealousy over strangers, refusal to talk about us, stalking my tumblr. All signs that you like me.”

“The sex was probably a good indicator of that too,” Arthur says. If that’s subtext, then he can read it too. It doesn’t take a genius.

“All signs that you want me to yourself,” Eames says softly, gazing at Arthur.

“That’s—” Arthur says, huffing out a breath. “It doesn’t matter because you like sleeping around.”

Eames scoffs, surprising Arthur. “Pretty sure everyone does. But that doesn’t mean I’m an animal. It’s okay to ask for what you want, Darling. You might just get it.”

Arthur pauses, feeling flustered. “So you want to stop making videos?”

Eames smiles. “Didn’t say that. Pretty sure you don’t want me to either.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“Just tell me,” Eames says, reaching for Arthur’s waist, pulling him in closer, and Arthur goes.

Arthur focuses on the warmth of Eames’ chest pressed to his, the way Eames licks his lips and inclines his head forward, waiting for Arthur’s answer.

It would be all too easy to just admit that he likes Eames, that he doesn’t care about the videos so much as the other guys in them. It’s only been a month, though. They barely know each other.

Eames is right there, though, offering himself to Arthur in a way that no one else ever has.

“I don’t want you sleeping with other people,” he says, forcing the words from his mouth. “Especially not on tape.”

“So just you on video then?” Eames asks with a grin, and Arthur presses his lips together at the joke.

“Eames,” he says, and Eames slides a hand around Arthur’s neck.

“Ask and you shall receive,” he says. “Just you from now on.”

“I’ll sick Ariadne on you if you break that promise,” Arthur says, but his chest is swelling with hope. “She can be really annoying.”

Eames laughs, pulling Arthur closer. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He kisses Arthur easily, tongue dipping into his mouth for just a second before he pulls away.

“So where is that closet?” he asks, glancing around the room.

Shaking his head, Arthur grabs Eames and pulls him down on the bed. There’s plenty of time for that later.

*

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I have as much self-control as Arthur does. There should be one more part coming, as long as I have enough motivation to write it.


End file.
